by David Smith
Bottled in Kingston, Jamaica
70% Proof
Warning: Do not drink if on any medication or pregnant.
Can induce loss of appetite, vomiting, incontinence, loss of balance, spontaneous defecation, and temporary blindness / paranoia / insanity.
If symptoms persist consult a doctor. Or psychologist.
If spilt on furniture remove immediately with damp cloth!
(Wear personal protective equipment, full hazard information available on our website)
Extremely Flammable: never drink and smoke!
The Captain Jack Rum Company holds all registered trademarks associated with this product but takes no responsibility, for loss of health, sight, sanity, damage to property, furniture or third party legal actions arising from its consumption.
She went to place the bottle back on the table, but felt as if she was going to keel over as she leant forward. She had to steady herself against the table and take a little breather before attempting to sit back. ‘An Officer is not permitted to drink on duty unless diplomatic protocol nehessitates . . . nesissitits . . . calls for it’ she replied, nearly by rote.
She watched Joynes lean forward, getting closer to her as he did. He took the bottle back and filled his tumbler to the brim. ‘Ah, well, as ah’m not actually on duty, ah’ll just finish this lil’ bottle off, if ya don’ mind!’
He chugged the rum down, thumped the tumbler down on the table then leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. As he stretched, his tatty shirt rode up, revealing smooth, evenly tanned skin stretched over beautifully defined wash-board abdominal muscles.
B’Stard suddenly felt flushed and said ‘It’s very warm in here?’
Joynes stretched again and agreed. ‘Anotha reminder of Jamaica: Ah always feel like ah’m at home when the temperature is up in the high thirties.’
The Captain was feeling decidedly uncomfortable and was now having difficulty focusing on anything in the room.
Her head was swimming and something in the back of her mind was telling her that this was a bad idea. The parts of her cerebral cortex that were still functioning properly reminded the back of her mind that she was a representative of the Judge Advocate General: Nothing should interfere with her doing her duty, so the back of her mind could bloody well shut up and . . . well . . . go back to the back of her mind.
Joyne’s voice interrupted her internal dialogue. ‘Ya look a lil’ flushed. It’s mos’ likely a lil’ warmer than you’re used ta. Here, lemme help ya.’
She caught her breath as he loomed over her. He moved slowly, trying not to scare her with his imposing physical presence. As she relaxed and breathed in, the sweet herbal scent of the air was suddenly mixed with the smell of fresh perspiration, his musky personal aroma and more male pheromones than she’d encountered in her entire life.
His hands reached towards her and undid the buttons on her tunic. The smell of him was overpowering and Anastasia had a strange butterfly feeling deep inside, as if she was nervous, but oddly the feeling occurred a bit lower down. She was vaguely aware that this was all totally improper, but another part of her befuddled brain was thinking ‘Just go with it: this could get really interesting!’
His huge hands gently opened the front of her tunic, and levered it over her shoulders. She shrugged her shoulders to help slip the tunic off and looking down saw the close fitting sweater that she always wore underneath her tunic.
She was surprised to see that two very distinct points were sticking out. Were those her nipples?? Where the hell did they come from? It wasn’t as if it was cold in here?
She looked up to find Joynes so close to her that he filled her entire field of vision and she swayed noticeably as the change of focus made her head spin.
She felt dizzy and confused but was still determined to persevere with her line of enquiry. ‘Commander Joynes . . . ‘
‘Please! Call me Israel’ his voice boomed through her personal haze.
She continued ‘Commander . . . Sorry, Israel . . . ‘ but stopped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d called anyone by their first name. This struck her as bizarrely funny and a little giggle slipped out.
She stopped again. Was that her??? Did she actually just giggle like a school-girl?? That struck her as funny too, and she giggled again.
‘Well . . . Israel [little giggle] . . . I’m here to speak to you about the weird . . . stuff . . . that’s been going on.’
She cleared her throat and decided to get straight to the point.
‘Have you been a naughty boy?’
She dissolved in a fit of hysterical laughter.
Joynes smiled. Perhaps this interview wasn’t going to be as bad as his crew-mates had said it would.
--------------------
By midnight, Captain Anastasia B’Stard had definitely got back on track and was now absolutely and totally in control of the situation.
She’d got the measure of the man and had delved deeply into his mind-set, probing the corners of his psyche for nuances of impropriety. This was all evidence in her investigation into . . . What was she doing again?
Her direct, precise questioning had gleaned a huge amount of information about Joynes’ background, his service record and even his hobbies. In an effort to try to get him to drop his guard, she’d talked to him at length about his hobbies and he’d showed her how he made his special herbal cigarettes.
She’d been reluctant to try them, but Joynes had seemed to feel so relaxed when smoking them she thought it might really put him at ease if she joined him.
They’d puffed away, and sure enough, he’d really started to let his guard down. He told her about his long-standing fascination with twentieth century reggae and dance-hall music from Jamaica and she’d managed to persuade him to play some of his favourite recordings.
She’d also managed to get him to show her some of his dance moves, although she’d had to pretend to want to learn them for herself in order to get him moving.
It was really hot though, and as she was jigging and swaying to the music she’d had to discard her uniform apart from her bra and panties. But that was fine, because Joynes had stripped down to just his shorts too.
This was great! She’d find out whatever the hell it was she was after in no time at all. Ideal! If she wrapped this up soon, she’d have time to get to the Galley and get some food, as she was really, really peckish.
--------------------
It was three in the morning and Anastasia was feeling very, very pleased with herself. The interview with Joynes was going better than she could possibly have hoped for, and she’d wheedled a huge amount of information out of her victim.
She’d learned how to roll herbal cigarettes, she’d learned all about Jamaican dance-hall culture and language, and even learned how to do something called ‘twerking’. Apparently these were all popular pastimes that were an important facet of Jamaican culture.
She’d lost track of the time, but being the true professional that she was, that didn’t matter. When she was on the hunt, she’d stick with the job until she’d seen it through.
Having said that, she was tired. It was mentally demanding trying to coax information out of a reluctant suspect, and twerking had been much harder to master than it looked.
Once she’d got the hang of it though, it had come quite naturally, and she’d found that Joynes had become remarkably co-operative as she’d rubbed and thrust her body against his.
Grinding her buttocks into his groin might have been a bit much on reflection, but she felt sure it helped her to achieve her goals, and she kept on doing it just make sure she’d get that little bit extra out of her suspect.
It was all a bit confusing though. As she was grinding him into submission, she was sure that Joynes had something that felt like a fire-extinguisher in the pocket of his shorts . . .
--------------------
She was done.
Her head was spinning and she felt as tired as she�
��d ever felt in her entire life. She’d nearly fallen over, but Joynes had caught her and steadied her, pulling her slim body in close to his massive frame.
She could feel the heat of his skin in a dozen different places where her flesh touched his, sticking together through the thin sheen of perspiration that coated both of them. That was an unfamiliar feeling, and she’d abandoned her bra and panties in order to gain as much of that sensation as possible.
She was triumphant in her success, which probably accounted for the strange tingling (and oddly moist) sensation in her lower abdomen. She was so happy she wrapped her arms around him, revelling in the heat and smell of his body.
Weirdly there was something getting in the way. Something very hard and very, very large was prodding her belly, and as she stepped back to see what it was, her exhaustion got the better of her and her legs finally gave way.
She collapsed to her hands and knees, and looked up to see a huge protuberance in Joynes’ shorts. Joynes smiled down at her and carefully pulled his shorts down to reveal the offending object.
Anastasia screamed ‘OH MY GOD!!! YOU’RE DEFORMED!!!’
Joynes laughed as he helped her to her feet, and then bodily lifted her and carried her to the bed at the rear of his quarters. ‘That’s as maybe, but ah think it’s about time ah introduced you to the all-time, number-one, absolute favourite pastime of ol’ Jamaica!’
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Dave was in the queue for the replicators in the Officer’s Mess. Since Lieutenant Taylor had fixed them, the replicators had become increasingly popular, and everyone was talking about how the meals obtained from them gave them a real buzz now . . .
Out of the corner of his eye, Dave saw the door to the Mess open, and Captain Anastasia B’Stard stepped in.
Dave’s attention was immediately drawn to her. The prim, proper, anally retentive inquisitor looked very, very different.
It was only just gone mid-day, but the Captain looked like she’d been awake forever. Her make-up had smeared, her hair was a mess, and her uniform was crumpled and untidy. She was even walking differently, the usual short staccato steps being replaced by longer, slower strides, far less-steady and oddly bow-legged.
The Captain took coffee from the Steward and went to find a table. As tended to be the case recently, the mess was quite full. The improvement in the output of the replicators had done wonders for morale but had severely curtailed trade at the Galley. Everybody was enjoying the food from the replicators and eating three square meals a day, or as many as their replicator rations allowed.
The Captain eventually found a small table by one of the viewing portals near the front of the compartment where she could sit on her own. She slumped into the chair but winced and stood back up immediately.
Dave watched, fascinated, as she gingerly lowered herself back onto the seat, discreetly hoisting up her skirt as she did so she could sit with her thighs wide apart. She finally sat down and carefully positioned herself to take all her weight on one buttock.
She tried to cross her legs, but each attempt brought a little gasp of pain, and in the end she settled for leaning in the chair at quite an angle with her thighs spread so wide that Dave couldn’t help but notice that wasn’t wearing underwear.
Concerned, Dave approached her, but didn’t get the sort of response he expected. ‘Are you ok Captain? You seem a little out of sorts?’
She slowly looked up, appearing dazed and confused as she shovelled spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and continued idly stirring away.
She spoke more slowly than usual and lacked her usual spiky demeanour. ‘Oh, hi Commander. I’m good thanks. Yeah. All good’ she said with a very distant and wistful look in her eyes.
‘Are you getting what you want from your interviews? I believe you missed your appointments with both Commander Romanov and Lieutenant Jonsen this morning?’ Dave enquired.
‘Did I? Really?’ she said, looking further detached than ever as she heaped more and more teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.
She moved in her seat, which brought a barely concealed grimace of pain. ‘Ah, yes. Sorry about that, I’ll ask Commander Ruiz to reschedule with them, but . . .’
She looked out through the viewing port and Dave noted a very faraway look in her eyes and what appeared to be a distinct flush in her cheeks. After what seemed an interminable pause she continued ‘ . . . I think I’m going to have to interview Commander Joynes again. Possibly several times.’
Dave wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be just the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
Chapter 9
Dave was at something of a loss.
Having been suspended, he had nothing to do officially, but he found he couldn’t sit in his quarters. Not only was that troubling his conscience, but that dratted lawyer kept trying to talk to him about unfair dismissal.
The cold war between the Tana and Sha T’Al had gone hot, and he could only listen and watch in frustration as the conflict began to ramp up while USS Tiger retreated to safety.
A second, smaller Sha T’Al fleet had swept through Tana space near the border and destroyed several sub-space relay stations that had been broadcasting Tana entertainment signals.
Fortunately, these hadn’t been manned, but the Tana hadn’t taken it lying down and had immediately despatched another of their fleets to replace the missing stations. They’d also despatched a third fleet and begun positioning more relay stations on their border with the independent Sha T’Al Home-worlds too.
They’d also elected to protect these stations by leaving a flotilla in places lying in wait for any Sha T’Al vessels.
This could have resulted in battles between opposing fleets, but ironically, the Tana had chosen to send ‘fly-on-the-wall’ documentary teams out with their battle fleets and were broadcasting the output with extraordinary abandon.
Although this gave away the tactical advantage they might have gained, the Tana were more than happy with the situation as these ‘warts and all’ documentaries from the front-line had proved to be massive winners in the much more important ratings war.
In fact the key source of intelligence concerning the progress of the conflict were the Tana broadcasting corporations, and between them and the Independent Sha T’Al, Dave had a pretty clear view of how things were progressing.
Although the fleets hadn’t clashed again since Todot Hahn, it was only a matter of time until they did, and Dave couldn’t shake the feeling that the clock was counting down while Tiger headed in completely the wrong direction.
--------------------
Commander Ramon Ruiz sat in the Captain’s chair on the Bridge. It had been three days since Captain B’Stard had gone to interview Israel Joynes, and in that time she hadn’t responded to any of his calls.
Weirdly, he did keep getting messages from Captain LaCroix, normal via a dishevelled looking Yeoman, who’d turn up with PAD in hand and brain in neutral. He didn’t know what to make of the messages which were normally very short and completely unrelated to anything to do with their current situation.
At least Tiger’s crew were being reasonable. They could have made his life extremely difficult, but they seemed to be staying in line, presumably out of loyalty to the last instruction from Commander Hollins. Even Hollins appeared from time to time and was quite happy to offer useful advice and guidance when it was needed. From what Ruiz could see, they were a motley crew, but Tiger’s personnel were very good at what they did, even if they did do everything in an unorthodox fashion.
Most of them were reluctant to engage him in conversation, but by listening in to what was being said in the Mess and elsewhere he knew that on the whole the crew would rather do the right thing and face the consequences rather than follow regulations and escape without further sanction.
He couldn’t admit it to B’Stard, but he was with the crew on that matter. To his way of thinking, following the regulations was all well and good, but humans were born with an inherent consc
ience that gave them an urge to follow their moral compass rather than a written directive.
He’d hinted to that effect in all of the status reports he was posting for the Captain, but the ship’s computer noted that she hadn’t looked at any of his reports (or any other document for that matter) in the last three days.
It probably wouldn’t make any difference, but if B’Stard ever sorted her shit out and came to the Bridge, he’d make sure she knew how he felt about that
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Commander Devon Chamberlain sat in the Captain’s chair on the Bridge of USS Higgs, cursing her luck.
It had been quite an honour to be entrusted with this mission, but she wished the honour had come a month later. USS Higgs was very much a work in progress.
Several of the ship’s key systems were still only partially functional. Worse, the crew was only partially functional too. Higgs was designed for a complement of one hundred and eighty officers and enlisted personnel, but she’d had to set out with just one hundred and six.
Even that wasn’t the bottom of the issue. The one hundred and six included just fifty-four of her actual crew. The rest were a motley mix of crewmen assigned to other ships (including USS Tiger), an odd few co-opted Starbase personnel and even some of the civilian contractors who’d come with USS Higgs from the construction yard.
It was these last few that had proved most problematic. They were essential as they were the ones most likely to be able to sort out the myriad problems still plaguing the new vessel, but they were under no obligation to undertake the mission.
She’d not been entirely honest with them, telling them that they were going to take an extended shake-down cruise. She knew that telling them they were going on an urgent fleet sanctioned mission into barely-known alien territory would have had them running for the hills.
Although they were now along for the ride, none of them were happy about it, and had let her know vociferously at every opportunity.
The co-opted crew weren’t much better. Most of them were only here because she’d arranged special orders for them. She’d checked the records of the crew assigned to the Tiger and found that they were rogues and misfits one and all.